A trail of blue smoke was lazily rising under some trees near the head of the lagoon. Near it was a cart, with a couple of donkeys hobbled close by, and across the rough grass came a light buggy, drawn by a fine pair of browns.
"The missus is just on time," said Mr. Warner. "Let's get there to welcome her."
They put their horses to a canter, and arrived at the camp fire just before the buggy came up, Mrs. Warner driving herself, while the twinses, spotless in white, were with difficulty restrained by nanna, whose smile was like a streak of ivory across an ebony surface, as she clung to each wriggling small body.
"The sight of you has a most demoralising effect on them," said Mrs. Warner to her husband, laughing. "They have been quite good until they saw you, and since then nanna has her hands full. Be quiet, twinses, and sit still!" It was noticeable that nobody ever thought or spoke of the Warner babies either singly or by name; being inseparable both in companionship and wickedness, it was not necessary to allude to them as anything but "the twinses." Dick had an idea that they were boy and girl, but as they were always dressed alike, and resembled each other so closely that he was quite unable to tell one from the other, even that was uncertain.
Mr. Warner lifted his restless infants out of the buggy, holding them tightly until nanna was on the ground, and able to resume at least partial control.
"There—keep away from the horses' heels," he said. "Go over and see what old Harry is cooking." The twinses fled tumultuously.
"Harry's an old soldier," Mr. Warner told Mrs. Lester, "and, like most old soldiers, the handiest man on the place. He has a wooden leg, which was interfering very badly with his career as a swagman, when I found him ten years ago; but it never affects his usefulness now. There's nothing he can't or won't tackle, but his particular accomplishment is camp cooking, so I sent him out to fix up lunch for us to-day."
They gave the old man full credit as a cook presently, when they ate the wild turkey, roasted in the ashes, in a jacket of clay, which he had prepared. There were potatoes, also roasted in their jackets, to be followed by flapjacks of surpassing lightness.
"Do you always have banquets like this when you come out on the run?" demanded Mr. Lester. "I'm accustomed to a packet of sandwiches and creek water!"
"My lunches vary," said Mr. Warner, laughing. "They range from turkey, like to-day—but you'll admit this is a special occasion—-to yams and grubs, and I've been more thankful for the yams than for the turkey! You see, you're exceedingly hungry before you take to black fellows' tucker, and when you're really hungry you're glad to get anything."